Coffee coloured stucco. Ancient
shutters bleached silver
dishevelled on rusty hinges
rendering their apparent
permanence miraculous. Battered
blue bicycle leant against the
wall no longer going places – adventurous
travel having given way years ago to sunlit
evenings making embroidered
shawls on the doorstep, geraniums
glowing like the buttercup effect
at the chin beneath deeply
wrinkled concentration. There’s a
small glass of something or other
beside a basket of chocolate
brown bread and olive oil
on the little outdoor table, and
needles in her orange pin cushion.
In tonight’s gentle evening
breeze this quiet sometime cyclist is
mistress of her universeSRM
Gentle evening
wind in my wheels 🌱 
I can smell the flowers, Simon….
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Me too, right now, Lori. And coffee and ice cream, and ancient and modern, the very old and the very young, colognes and coloured candy, and that particular scent of hot sunshine on foot-polished stones in narrow alleyways, and fishing boats home from early endeavours, and the sound of seagulls, swallows, and the basilica bells – (fascinating being in such close proximity to the sixth century) – holds it all together … xx
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Who needs a painting. You describe the picture so well
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Many thanks Eighty eight. I’m delighted you can “see” it xx
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I can picture this – with full sensory appreciation. Magical moment captured by you – the master literary magician..xx
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You are sooo kind. I wish I wrote as wonderfully as you do when you’re waiting for the karma truck – because it’s really you that’s the master of evocation and generous-hearted reflection … so double thanks 😃 xx
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